Turn to Stone
by dancingirl87
Summary: What if Damon was turned in 2010? "The darkness pulls him back under before she catches up and tackles him to the ground, cementing a bond over annoying little brothers and long brown pigtails." AU. Damon/Elena.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hi all. I've been lurking in this fandom for awhile and have finally decided to contribute to the amazing collection of writing on this website. Damon and Elena have recently taken up residence inside my head, so I figured I would put them to good use. I'm hoping that writing this story will be helpful in getting through the rest of the summer until Season 4 starts. And can I just say – what a finale! I'm still floored almost an entire week later!

**Disclaimer: **I only own the plot.

* * *

**turn to stone**

part one

The darkness is suffocating. He can't move, can't breathe. Feels the stirrings of panic building in his chest. Where is he? What happened?

Why is it so _fucking_ dark?

Taking a deep breath, he focuses, takes inventory. He's lying down. Of that much he's certain. The floor is cold and hard under his body. If he strains his eyes he can just make out the faint outline of a door. The air is slightly stale and smells musty, like a basement. But there, in the background, he smells something fantastic, delicious, mouth-wateringly good.

He can't quite put his finger on the smell. It's nothing he's ever sensed before. Slightly bitter, yet sweet and somehow he knows it would taste like heaven, would soothe his rough throat. He wants more than anything to find it, have it. Taste it.

"Is he awake yet?"

The words are clear and crisp. They startle him, but the voice comes from far away. He's not sure how he knows this, but he does. How can he hear them? His hands fly up to cover his ears. The words are as loud as if the speaker is in the room with him.

"-think he'll come around soon. It's been over an hour already."

His brain working overtime, he misses the first part, but recognizes the voice. Stefan.

Relief floods his system. If Stefan is here then he can't be in danger. Stefan is the golden boy. On a sigh of relief, he pushes himself to stand and carefully makes his way to the door. It flies open before he gets close.

"Damon."

Light floods into the room, framing his brother in a halo of gold. Damon chokes back a chuckle at the irony.

And then suddenly he's on the floor, choking, grasping at his throat, his chest and it feels likes he's drowning, suffocating, there's not enough air. Can't breathe. _Can'tbreathecan'tbreathecan'tbreathe_.

And then he's swallowed by the darkness again.

* * *

It's the first day of school when he sees her across the playground. She's wearing bright red shorts and a top with a big strawberry on it. She's got red sparkly jellies on her feet and she's holding a Barbie backpack in one hand. Her long brown hair is pulled into two pigtails that his hands just itch to pull. She's standing with who he guesses is her mom and a little blonde girl bounces excitedly in circles around her.

He's not sure why she catches his eye so suddenly, but as she turns to hug her mom goodbye, their eyes meet. To his surprise, she doesn't frown at him or make a stupid face, like most girls. She just looks at him with wide brown eyes. A small smile plays on her lips as she sees Stefan playing in the sand beside him, his dad talking to his new teacher. She sees his dumb collared shirt and the freshly pressed chinos that his dad made him wear and it's like he's known her forever.

They're both in Mrs. Lemon's class. Some kids cry, since it's the first day and all, but Damon isn't one of them and neither is the girl he saw outside. She sits at the art table, long skinny legs swinging as she sticks out her tongue, concentrating on pasting a big yellow smiley face in exactly the right spot. He thinks about going to join her, but her blonde friend is there before he can move, so he stays huddled in the reading corner with his book. He's no good at crafts anyways.

Later, at recess, she comes over to him, without her blonde bouncy friend in tow, and since he hasn't made any new friends yet he is grateful, even if she is a girl.

"Hi! I'm Elena. What's your name?"

"Damon," he answers. Her sunny smile seems to make the first day of kindergarten a bit brighter, even though he would definitely rather be running around with Stefan in the backyard of the Boarding House.

"I saw you this morning before school. Was that your little brother? I have a little brother too. He can be cute but mostly he's annoying. What's your brother like? What's his name? Does be bug you lots too?" He watches her ramble on and on, pigtails bouncing, and wonders what she would do if he just reached out and tugged one, wonders how long she can talk before she shuts up.

When she finally pauses and takes a breath he says, "You talk a lot."

She wrinkles her nose at him. "So?"

"So nothing. You should talk less." He grins at her, eyes crinkling, so she knows he's not being mean, just teasing.

"But that's no fun," she protests. "If I don't talk to you, how are we gonna be best friends?"

The question stumps him. "What about that bouncy blonde girl?" he asks, to buy time, since he's not sure he wants to be best friends with a girl anyways.

"That's Caroline. She's my friend but not my best friend. I don't have one yet. I like you though. You have pretty eyes."

He's not quite sure what to say to that, so instead he gives in to temptation, pulls her pigtail and races away. She squeals loudly, throws up her arms and chases after him.

The darkness pulls him back under before she catches up and tackles him to the ground, cementing a bond over annoying little brothers and long brown pigtails.

* * *

When he comes to Stefan is still there, but the darkness has evaporated, leaving in its wake the dirty cellar of the Boarding House. He shakes off the memory; his brain feels cloudy. He tries to remember what happened. How he got here. He tells himself to focus. _Think, damn it_. But his mind draws a complete blank, so he turns to Stefan.

"What happened?" His voice sounds hoarse, raspy to his ears. He wonders how long he was out, dreaming of- "Where's Elena?" he asks more urgently. "What _happened_?"

Stefan looks sadly at him, regret and an emotion he can't quite decipher in his eyes.

Damon tries again to remember. What was he was doing before he woke up in the cellar? He thinks of the dream (memory?) he had had, and then it comes to him as clear as a bell. The last thing he remembers is Elena. They were walking home, trying to rush to make it before curfew. He knows her aunt worries when they walk in the evening so he always makes sure to get her safely home in time. She stopped him on the path to her front door, he remembers. Turned those big brown eyes on him, looking for all intents and purposes like she was about to spill her guts, and then – nothing. That's the last thing he remembers.

Stefan opens his mouth to explain, but Damon interrupts. "Where's Elena?" he repeats, eyes fiercely meeting his brother's.

"She's safe. She's at home with Jenna." Stefan soothes his fear in a gentle voice. Damon wants to punch him for sounding so damn calm when he is the furthest thing in the world from calm.

Barely restraining his frustration, he replies in a tight voice. "Then will you please explain what the fuck is going on?"_  
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_Reviews would make my day (:_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay. I couldn't quite get this chapter rolling. Apparently I need to go old-school and use a paper and pen to get my ideas down and _then_ type them up. I hope this part helps to answer some of the questions you may have.

Thank you to everyone who read, alerted and favourited, and a special thank you to those of you who took the time to review. It means the world to me.

**Disclaimer:**I only own the plot.

* * *

**turn to stone**

_a fire burns bright, it warms the heart/we've been friends from the very start/you have one hand, I have the other/put them together, we have each other/you help me and I'll help you/and together we will see it through – Make New Friends, Unknown_

part two

Stefan just stares at him, like some kind of awestruck idiot. Has he grown another head? He checks. Nope. He just wants to know what the hell is going on, and Stefan gazing at him like a lost puppy in need of a haircut is not going to get him anywhere.

"Spill it, Stef," Damon demands, striding forwards until he's nearly nose to nose with his brother. When Stefan simply purses his lips, Damon blows out a frustrated breath and rolls his eyes. "Fine. I'm out of here. Come find me when you're ready to explain why I woke up in the cellar with you as my creepy guard dog."

He pushes past Stefan, but his brother stops him with a hand on his wrist. "Wait."

Throwing off the hand and its owner, Damon whirls around, eyes blazing. "What is it? I don't have time for this," he snaps. He's got places to be – first and foremost is to find Elena. Second is to get something to eat. Maybe a burger. Or two. He is _starving_. "Just spit it out, brother."

Green eyes meet blue and there is a moment of silence before Stefan finally breaks it. "You're in transition," he says on a sigh.

It's not quite what he expected to hear, and Damon is speechless for a moment; a flood of emotions run through his head. How did this happen? How could this have happened – he's always so _careful_. It's been drilled into his head since childhood, not to mention Elena's own special brand of prevention and protection. And why doesn't he remember this life changing – no, life ending – event? And most importantly –

"Who?" he growls, moving lightning fast and slamming Stefan against the cold stone wall of the cellar. "Who did this to me?"

Stefan's eyes are filled with something he can't quite read. Remorse? Pity? "I don't know," he answers quietly.

Anger floods Damon's system faster than he can comprehend and he roughly shakes Stefan. "Like hell you don't know," he shouts, slamming Stefan against the wall again. Stefan's head thuds against the stone, but he doesn't react. "You've been all up in this vampire business for months. I bet you know exactly who it was. One of your vampy buddies? That girlfriend of yours? Did you help her?" Damon sneers as his brother won't meet his eyes. "Feeling _guilty_? Is that why you're down here, trying to help me? Or are you just being a friendly neighbour, helping to clean up someone else's mess?"

Stefan narrows his eyes and before Damon can make a sound he's staring at the ceiling again, wheezing as pain spreads through his chest.

"Wow, Stef. I had no idea you'd been hitting the gym–"

"You need to drink blood," Stefan interrupts. "Human blood. As soon as possible, Damon," he adds when Damon rolls his eyes and makes a face. He presses his hands into Damon's shoulders, giving him a small shake, his eyes intense on his brother's. "I don't know how long you have."

Damon's not even sure how he feels about drinking blood – it sounds pretty gross to him – let alone what he thinks about eternal life, no more sunshine or hamburgers or birthdays, no Elena…

"What if I don't want to be a vampire?" It just comes out, but he knows the words are true. He's never even liked vampires, the way they skulk around town, all creepy fog and missing blood bags, not to mention the recent string of 'animal attacks' in the woods just outside of town. His thoughts stray to Elena, although he's been unconsciously trying not to think about his best friend who might be more, because he knows exactly what she'd tell him. Elena's hatred of vampires is just as much a part of her as the annoying habit she has of getting herself into crazy situations and her ability to make elaborately ridiculous plans that always seem to backfire.

She would hate him forever if he did this and his gut clenches as he imagines the look on her face, the disgust in her eyes that he's seen every time they've come across a vampire. He imagines Elena looking at him like he's a monster, like he's not her best friend, like he's a stranger. His heart skips. He's not sure he can stand that.

Above him, Stefan glares at him. "You can't just die, Damon. You're the only family I have left."

"Yeah, because we're just the best of friends, Stefan," he snaps. "All those guy's nights and Sunday dinners. Oh, wait. I wasn't there for any of those. My invitations must have gotten lost in the mail." He knows Stefan is right, that they are brothers above all else, but that's no reason to go all wishy-washy.

But his brother still knows him best of almost anyone except for Elena, and he lets him go, striding out of the room and returning with what Damon can only assume is a bag of blood. The red liquid disgusts him and draws him in at the same time. It's like there are two separate Damons in his head, battling for control. Stefan rips the bag open and holds it out to him and for a split second Damon wonders where he got it from, before the intoxicating smell nearly overwhelms him and knocks any other thought out of his head. His mouth waters. There's a sharp pain in his gums.

He has never wanted anything _so bad_.

He lunges for the bag as Stefan watches him wordlessly, an unreadable expression on his face.

When the first drops slide down his throat, the excruciating thirst finally retreats and Elena's face swims into his head. Her normally cheerful eyes are instead filled with rage, with disgust, with tears.

Hands shaking, he hurls the drained bag across the room and rakes a hand through his hair. What has he done?

* * *

_June 23, 1996_

Their parents are good friends, so when his Dad goes out of town for work _again_, he and Stefan get to stay at the Gilbert's. Damon knows his little brother doesn't mind. Five-year-olds are cool that way. They think pretty much everything is fun, especially when there are treats and late bedtimes and best friends involved.

Damon loves staying at Elena's house. Her mom always smiles at him with warm eyes, like Elena's but more mom-like, and the sheets smell like sunshine. Mr. Gilbert makes them Mickey Mouse pancakes for breakfast and ruffles his hair when he walks past – the sorts of normal family things his Dad never has time for. Stefan runs around with Jeremy, leaving Damon free to do what he wants instead of play baby games with his brother.

And it's fun to be around Elena all the time. They fight over anything and everything and get over it just as quickly and it's loud and intense and fun and _them_. They spend afternoons racing around the yard playing imaginary adventure games and evenings huddled together under a rooftop of blankets trying to scare each other with tales of Mystic Falls' creepiest townspeople. Today they steer clear of scary stories and swap their best jokes because they've had enough creepiness for one day.

He even kind of likes the way she sleeps all sprawled out on her stomach, legs and arms everywhere. Not that he'd ever admit it. Sometimes, like tonight, he's even super nice and lets her sleep awhile before giving her a good shove onto her side of the bed.

He's pretty sure they're almost too old to be sharing a bed. His Dad teases him, although there's always a tone in his voice that tells Damon he's actually being kind of serious at the same time. He says eight-year-old boys shouldn't be sleeping with girls. That they should be worried about cooties, but Damon knows Elena doesn't have _cooties_. That's baby stuff. There's just something he likes about falling asleep with the rhythmic breaths of his best friend beside him. He feels safe.

Turning onto his back, he stares at the ceiling. For some reason, Elena's snuffly breathing is not as soothing as it usually is. He stretches out, throws an arm over his face, blows out a breath. Nope. He is wide awake. He wishes he were Elena. That girl can sleep anywhere, anytime.

He glances over her to read the glowing red numbers on her bedside table. It's almost midnight. They have school tomorrow. A stupid math test _and _he has to read his poem in front of the class. He hasn't memorized it yet, like they're supposed to. Obviously Elena knows hers off by heart, but there's no way he's jumping out of bed at midnight to memorize a poem about _hamburgers_, of all things. He'll just have to bring the stupid paper with him and Mr. Erwin will just have to deal with it.

Maybe he should practice his times tables. They're boring enough; they'll probably put him to sleep faster than counting dumb old sheep. He starts at the ones and makes it to fives and then he's sound asleep.

A persistent pounding knocks him out of a dream about Spiderman battling the Power Rangers. He blearily rolls over, sees that he's only been asleep for an hour, when the pounding stops. Snuggling back into his pillow, he's about to head back to dreamland when he smells the smoke.

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